the ascent of the elevator makes her heart beat faster even though she can barely feel a thing. it drops a little in her chest, but she stands still as if nothing is affecting her.
unlike most, she feels comforted by the lack of open space. she enjoys corners and confined spaces and hates open fields and vast emptyness. for what is there to fear when you can see everything around you? when you can sense any approach, any movement, any danger. when you know exactly what’s coming, and exactly how to react.
the unknown is infinitely worse.
in front of her the doors slide open and she stands in wonder at having travelled so far in such a short period of time.
she steps out into an open space paved with concrete and patterned by the butts of flattened cigarettes. a soft clunking sound signifies the doors merging together behind her, tempting her to turn around and reach for the button that will return her to the confined space. but it’s followed by the the whooshing sound which tells her that its safety is already beyond her reach.
a brief tour of nothing in particular leads her to the slightly elevated edge on which she sits and stares at a world where everything is unknown and unexpected. every action causes a ripple in subsequent reactions, and nothing can stay perfectly on course without being affected by external factors. sometimes they react well, like the pedestrians that seamlessly dodge one another as they speed across the pavement. but sometimes they fail to react, and result in collision.
he once told her that it’s not always a bad thing to collide. that the butterfly effect doesn’t stop with one subsequent reaction, but touches all of them. that perhaps one variable would have changed the world. and that maybe there’s a reason for everything.